


Thirty Years That Should Have Been

by Bunney



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunney/pseuds/Bunney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione returns to Hogwarts for her daughter's Quidditch match, and meets someone from her past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty Years That Should Have Been

The sun blazed down from a cloudless sky over the Scottish Highlands, turning the castle on the hill into a bronzed fortress and the fluttering multi-hued banners into gleaming jewels.

“Mum! Mummy!”

Hermione was just emerging from the Visitors stand when she heard the sound of her youngest daughter’s voice. A brilliant smile lit up her lovely face as a young woman dressed in the vivid crimson and gold of Gryffindor House raced up to her, dragging behind her a tall boy with a shock of white-blond hair. 

“Cathleen, darling! You were wonderful out there today!”

She held out her arms and her daughter, taller by a good six inches, flung herself into her embrace. Hermione cradled the girl close, burying her cheek in her sweat-damp auburn hair. Cathleen drew back long enough to press a kiss to Hermione’s temple, then looked over her shoulder at the blond wizard standing a few feet away, watching them with interested, but wary reserve. She held out her hand to him and gave him a smile so sensual that it made Hermione blush.

He stepped forward gracefully, his emerald and silver Quidditch uniform identical to Cathleen’s but for the color and the house crest on the left breast, a brilliant Slytherin counterpoint to Cathleen’s Gryffindor colors. Hermione gave him a warm smile, even though his appearance was startling, to say the very least. He held out his hand and Hermione took it politely.

“Devon Malfoy, madam. It’s a pleasure to finally have the opportunity to meet you,” he said, giving Cathleen a wry look. The girl stuck her tongue out at him.

“Cathleen! For shame,” Hermione protested, swatting at her daughter. Cathleen rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, Mum! It’s not like he hasn’t seen my tongue before, right, Dev?” she purred, tossing her red ponytail over her shoulder. She set the tip of her broom on the ground and leaned idly against it.

Devon gave Hermione an apologetic grin, two spots of pink brightening his pale skin. “She didn’t mean it like that, madam...”

“Of course she did. Don’t let her fool you. So, Devon, how long have you two been an item?” Hermione asked as Cathleen made a face at her. Her impish, wild personality, so like that of her twin uncles, was in strange contrast to Devon’s calm and courtly manners. But when he looked down into Cathleen’s happy face, Hermione could see the scorching desire burning in his pale blue eyes.

“Well, naturally, we hated each other on sight...” he started, his posh accent teasing.

“Naturally,” Cathleen echoed, nodding her head emphatically. 

“Then, one day last term, we were playing the first Gryffindor-Slytherin match and she kicked me off my broom to get to the Snitch! Can you even believe it?”

Cathleen picked up the thread of the story. “He was so furious, Mum! You should’ve seen him! He landed on the pitch and ripped off his gloves and grabbed me...Isabelle and Flora were just about to have _fits_! They thought he was going to hit me!”

Hermione smiled softly, suspecting just where this story was headed. “I take it that he didn’t, then? Which is a good thing, Devon...she has a wicked left hook.”

Cathleen abandoned her broomstick and melted against Devon’s chest, gazing up at him dreamily. “No, he kissed me, right there in the middle of the pitch. In front of the whole school! Didn’t you, love?”

Devon smirked down at her and for a horrified instant, Hermione was struck by the uncomfortable knowledge of how much he resembled his father. Hopefully, in appearance only. “And we’ve been together ever since,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Thank you, Madam Weasley, for giving me Cathleen.”

Hermione laughed. “Good luck to you if you can get her to behave. She’s a Weasley through and through and they are notorious scoundrels.”

“Mum!”

Devon was looking over her head then, a happy smile crossing his lips. “Dad!” 

Hermione stiffened, her stomach flip-flopping in dawning horror. She sensed him as he stepped around her, in a swirl of black and smelling of sandalwood and sunshine, and it was as if the past thirty years melted away and she was seventeen again.

Devon was gathered in a tight embrace, which he returned enthusiastically, Cathleen watching with giddy excitement. Hermione clenched her hands around the edges of her cloak and silently wished she’d used a coloring charm on her graying chestnut hair.

“Dad! Did you see Cathleen out there today? She was brilliant!” Devon said, giving his girlfriend such a look of pride, one would have never known that her team had beaten his to the Quidditch Cup. 

“I did indeed. You played an excellent game, Cathleen. My sincerest congratulations to you and the rest of Gryffindor House,” Devon’s father said, his accent faintly nasal and as pedigreed as Hermione remembered and she had to fight back an uneasy shiver. 

Cathleen grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy!” She looped her arm through his and tugged him around. “You remember my mother? I believe you attended Hogwarts with her.”

Hermione discovered an untapped reserve of Gryffindor bravery; she squared her shoulders and lifted her eyes to his cool silver gaze. “Malfoy.”

He smiled, a crooked curve of his lush lips that almost recalled the hateful sneers of their seven years here at Hogwarts. He held out a leather-gloved hand, with an imperiousness that still grated on her nerves. Hermione placed hers in it and, without taking his cool eyes from her face, he lifted it to his lips and placed the lightest of kisses on her fingertips. His lips were soft and surprisingly warm.

“Madam Weasley. You’re looking exceptionally well,” he murmured, his voice still infuriatingly insolent. Hermione had to tug hard to remove her hand from his deceptively gentle grip.

“As are you, Malfoy.”

And he did, much to Hermione’s disgust. Draco Malfoy was, if possible, even more handsome than he’d been at seventeen, the age of the children standing before them. Dressed impeccably in fine black wool robes, expertly tailored, a silver serpent pin shining discreetly from the folds of his perfectly-knotted emerald tie, he was every inch the wealthy aristocrat. Disturbingly, he resembled his father in many ways, but instead of the long, platinum fall of hair that had been Lucius Malfoy’s trademark, Draco’s silver hair was cut extremely short and spiky, accentuating the sharp widow’s peak that formed his heart-shaped face. His eyes, stormy, mercurial grey, pierced right through her defenses and she felt suddenly naked and gauche.

He sensed her discomfort and his smirk widened into a genuine smile. “So, how is it that our children have found each other, yet we’ve not met in the last twenty-odd years? You were aware of whom Cathleen was seeing, I presume?”

Hermione willed away her flushed cheeks and pulled her cloak tighter around her body. “Cathleen told me she was seeing a Malfoy. I assumed you had no objections since I hadn’t found her dead on my doorstep.”

She was joking, only a little, but her words were sharp and his gaze narrowed with annoyance. Cathleen reached out and thumped her mother on the shoulder. “Mum! Don’t be embarrassing!”

Hermione plastered a strained smile on her face and nodded at Draco. “It was...enlightening to see you again, Malfoy. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse us, I’m going to escort my daughter to the Gryffindor changing room for a shower so that she can join me in Hogsmeade for an early dinner.”

Cathleen balked at that. “But, Mother! Devon and I were going to have din...”

“Cathleen!” Hermione’s voice brooked absolutely no disagreement and Cathleen huffed in disappointment, giving Devon a look that was full of a lover’s misery. Hermione grimaced and took her pining daughter’s sleeve in hers. “Oh for Merlin’s sake, Cathleen Molly! It’s not as if you aren’t going to see him in a few hours’ time! Probably doing something that would’ve given your poor father a stroke!”

“But, Mum!”

“Come on!”

“Hermione.”

Draco’s voice stopped Hermione in her tracks. She looked back at him and was once again struck by how handsome he looked, with the wind ruffling his cloak and the short ends of his hair. “My condolences on the loss of your husband. I know it’s been over a year, however...well, you have mine and my family’s deepest sympathy. Ron was...he was a kind man.”

With a sharp dip of his head, Draco beckoned to Devon and they walked away, towards the Slytherin changing rooms. Hermione watched him, an odd sadness gripping her heart. Cathleen, her capricious mood turning suddenly melancholy in the face of her mother’s sorrow, draped an arm over her shoulder and led her away.

********

Hours later, after a quiet dinner and a brisk walk to deliver Cathleen back to Hogwarts, Hermione shut the door to her room at the Three Broomsticks and leaned back against it, scalding tears filling her chocolate-brown eyes. The day, which had started out so nicely, especially with Cathleen’s brilliantly-played game, had proceeded to go progressively worse, not the least of which was meeting Draco Malfoy again. And to find him still so handsome and arrogant, as if nothing had changed in the intervening years...well, it was aggravating in the extreme.

She could hardly believe that he’d been responsible for the thoroughly pleasant and likable Devon, who looked at her daughter with such shining blue eyes, full of young love. She had no doubt in her mind that they’d be clamoring for her permission to wed within a year’s time. And of course, she’d say yes. Devon Malfoy was a charming young man; he could hardly help his unfortunate parentage.

_Like Draco Malfoy could help his?_

With a frustrated huff, Hermione tossed her cloak on the bed and walked into the small, adjoining bathroom. Maybe a nice, hot bubble bath would ease her shattered nerves, followed by a good nights’ sleep. Although she had no idea what gave her the idea that tonight would be any better than any other night; she’d not had a decent sleep since Ron’s passing.

Trying to ignore the ever-present ache in her heart, Hermione turned on the taps to the old claw-foot tub and poured in a generous dollop of bubble bath and quickly stripped out of her Muggle jeans and Gryffindor sweatshirt.

******

Using her wand to vanish the steam that fogged the full-length mirror, Hermione studied her nude figure, fresh from a long soak in the tub. She hadn’t bothered drying off; water still sluiced over her sumptuous curves and her skin glowed from the heat of the bath. With a sharp, critical eye, she looked at her body, cataloguing each perceived flaw, not seeing the beauty that was so abundantly displayed. 

She supposed, for a woman of nearly forty-eight, she didn’t look _too_ horrible. After five children, her tummy was no longer perfectly flat but gently rounded and her hips flared out in a way that was more womanly than she imagined was attractive. 

Turning sideways, she looked at her breasts, grimacing slightly. Cupping their weight in her palms, she sent Fleur Weasley a silent thank you for insisting on giving her the potion she used to keep her own breasts supple and firm. Still, they were larger than she liked and drooped just enough that they’d never pass for those of a seventeen year old again.

_You vain cow! Those breasts fed your babies! Of course, they’ll never look seventeen again!_

Disgusted with herself, she turned her back to the mirror, looking instead at the heavy mass of unruly russet curls reaching halfway down her back. Generously peppered with strands of gleaming white, it gave her a rather wild and pagan look that she normally liked. But, now...she just felt homely.

And old.

Tears filled her eyes again as she thought of how Ron would tease her for her vanity. He’d never once complained of her widening hips or her soft belly or her too-large breasts. He’d loved every inch of her, even more so with each successive baby. It had been well over a year since she’d found him laying face-down in the kitchen, dead of a massive heart attack, and still she ached for his laughter and his loving caresses until she thought she’d go mad from the loneliness.

_Maybe a drink before bed,_ she thought. _Who can blame me? I’m fat and ugly and my daughter is probably going to marry a Malfoy. Life can’t suck any worse than it already does._

She was regretting coming to Hogwarts for the last Quidditch game of the season, even though Ron would’ve been horrified at the thought of missing any of his children’s school activities. He’d been so proud of each and every one of the kids, even gawky, bookish Jane and sweet, delicate Ryan, who wasn’t in the least bit interested in Quidditch. She should’ve stayed home or gone to Harry and Ginny’s house, which was always in the midst of some chaos or other, never failing to take her mind off her grief. Their large family, six sons and two granddaughters, was her second family.

_Yes, a drink. A nice stiff one. Maybe I’ll drink myself into a stupor and forget I was ever here. Forget that Malfoy is still an arrogant ferrety git._

Never mind that she’d conveniently forgotten that he’d been the very picture of politeness that very day.

A lingering sense of narcissism prodded Hermione into slathering on a silky, scented lotion, a Christmas present from her middle daughter Emma, and then a touch of makeup so that she didn’t look as haggard as she felt. Instead of wrapping her hair back into its usual French twist, she left it loose to fall in a riotous tumble around her shoulders. 

Slipping on a long wool skirt that was just a smidgen too tight across her arse and a warm fisherman’s knit cardigan over a white blouse, she once more faced herself in the mirror. Not bad. A little red gloss on her lips and she felt better than she had all day. _Funny what a little color will do for an old hag,_ she mused dryly to herself. 

******

The tavern downstairs was only about half full and Hermione had no trouble finding a seat at the long bar. Caught up in her own misery, she missed the admiring looks from the wizards present. A young woman, who looked to be several months pregnant, swiped at the surface in front of Hermione with a damp rag and gave the witch a cheerful smile. “Hullo, love! What ken I offer ye?”

“Do you sell any Muggle drinks?” When the girl nodded in the affirmative, Hermione ordered a vodka. Pouring a generous amount into a tall glass, the girl pocketed Hermione’s galleon and smiled her thanks.

The alcohol’s warmth spread through Hermione’s stomach and she sighed in almost-pleasure. She didn’t indulge that often, although it had increased in frequency since Ron’s death, so she felt its effects almost immediately. She settled into a pleasantly dreamy fugue, content to just sit here and get perfectly pissed. 

She didn’t turn around when a shadow fell over her. Out of her peripheral vision, a black-clad arm waved for the barmaid’s attention. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

_Oh god..._

“Go ‘way, Malfoy.”

She heard the creak of the bar stool as he sat down beside her and she could feel the intensity of his gaze on the side of her face, like a torch burning a hole in her skin. She shot him a vicious glare. “What?”

He raised an amused eyebrow. “I’m just going to have a drink, Madam Weasley. Is that a crime?” For a moment, she thought she saw a twinge of hurt in his expression, but it was quickly masked by an air of arrogant disinterest.

Hermione started to slide off the stool, her drink in one hand, room key in the other. “Have fun without me, Malfoy. I’m going to my room.” Before she could make her escape, however, his hand covered hers, warm and firm. 

“Please stay. I’d like the company.”

Shocked, Hermione slowly sat back down. Draco smiled and it transformed his entire face. His eyes crinkled in the corners in a way that told her that he laughed often and it softened the deep lines around his mouth. Her heart beat a little faster and she could feel another infernal blush creeping up her neck. She waved her hand rapidly in front of her face and he looked at her in confusion.

“Hot flashes. You know...how that...yeah.” She trailed off and wondered if she could just will herself to disappear. His lips curled in a smirk, but it was good-natured. “I wouldn’t know, love.”

“Doesn’t your wife...doesn’t she...who are you married to again?” Hermione asked, trying to remember which snotty Slytherin bitch had landed the heir to the Malfoy fortune.

“Daphne Greengrass. She was in our year,” he said, taking a slow sip of his vodka and frowning at the unfamiliar taste.

“Ahhh...well, don’t Malfoy women go through menopause?” Hermione snapped peevishly, thinking to herself that if he made some smart, pureblood-witches-don’t-do-menopause remark, she’d knock him off his stool.

Instead, he shrugged elegantly. “Again, I wouldn’t know. For the past eight years, Daphne’s been living on some island in the South Pacific with Ivan,” he said coolly, the glint in his eyes not so much unpleasant as just sad.

Hermione blinked. “Ivan? Who’s Ivan?”

Draco looked at her with a tiny smile. “Her twenty-five year old lover. My oldest son’s best friend. Ex-best friend, I suppose.”

This time, there was no hiding from her embarrassment. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

They sat silently for several moments, Draco staring at his glass as he swirled the clear liquid around and around and Hermione staring at the barmaid, wondering why her arse hadn’t stayed that small when she was pregnant. _Infernal cow._

“Why don’t you divorce her?” she finally ventured, daring to look at his still profile.

Draco sighed and drained his vodka, setting the glass down with a thump that drew the barmaid’s attention. She waddled over and refilled it and topped off Hermione’s. “She doesn’t want to give up her status as a Malfoy.”

“That’s rotten. Why do you stand for it?” Hermione said, sipping her fresh drink and starting to feel quite pleasant and fuzzy indeed.

“I just don’t give it a thought. We really can’t stand each other anyway, so being separated by half a world is just fine with me.”

“You said ‘oldest son’...you have more than one?” 

Draco stood up suddenly, holding out his hand. “Let’s go grab that booth over there.”

Blinking in tipsy bewilderment, Hermione found her hand gripped tightly in his and he dragged her unceremoniously over to a secluded booth in the back of the dimly-lit tavern, both unaware of the speculative looks they were receiving from the other patrons. 

Once settled, sitting shoulder to shoulder, Draco seemed to relax. “We have three, two boys and a girl. Devon’s the youngest, then there’s Delilah – she’s twenty-one – and Daimler is twenty-five.”

Hermione snorted, even though she was secretly amazed at the way his face lit up while he talked about his children. “Daimler? Isn’t that an automobile?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t know...Daphne insisted on it.” 

He turned to her then, giving her his full attention and Hermione felt the heat flare in her cheeks. He really did look good for his age. “How about you? The Weasleys are notoriously fertile. How many did you pop out?”

“Oh Merlin, Malfoy, you’re still the nasty one, aren’t you?” But, his grin was infectious and she laughed softly. “Five. We have five. Cathleen is our youngest. She’s Devon’s age, of course. Emma’s nineteen, Jane, twenty-two. Then our sons, Ryan and Daniel are twenty-five and twenty-seven.”

“No twins? I thought it ran in the family?”

She shook her head, her wild curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Harry and Ginny have triplets. Two sets of them.”

“Bloody hell!”

Hermione giggled, covering her mouth with one hand. “You should’ve seen Harry’s face when the mediwitch told him that Ginny was having trips the second time! I thought he was going to fling himself out of the window at St. Mungo’s! There’s only eighteen months between their ages!”

Draco looked suitably horrified. “So, how is old Potty? ‘Round the bend yet?”

Hermione stiffened for a moment, before she saw that he was asking out of genuine curiosity. “No. He’s enjoying being a grandfather though. They have two.”

“Wow. Daimler’s getting married this fall, so hopefully they’ll settle down and start having a family right away.”

He was full of surprises and Hermione found that she liked that very much. “So eager to be a grandfather, are you? What is his fiancée like?”

Draco gave her an odd look. “You’d like her, Grang...Hermione. She’s a Muggle. An American one, at that.”

Hermione’s mouth popped open and she couldn’t help the squeal of laughter that issued. “An American! Surely not?” she teased.

But he was smiling at her gentle teasing, the torchlight making his silver hair sparkle. “Yep. It must be a frigid day in hell...hope old Lucius took his warmest cloak.”

Hermione had to bite her lips to keep from howling. “Draco Malfoy! Can I believe my ears? You’re making fun of your sainted father?”

He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Sainted. Yes, that’s Lucius alright. Evil, manipulative bastard, more like.” His eyes sobered and he looked at her with genuine sorrow gleaming in their platinum depths. “I’m so sorry, Hermione, for all the evil he caused and for...for following him as long as I did.”

Hermione impulsively lay her hand over his and he turned it palm-up at the last moment, his fingers clasping over hers. The heat she felt this time originated much lower and made her squirm in her seat. “You know, I’ve forgiven you for all of that, years ago. Years ago, Draco.”

He was staring at her lips, then looked up and met her warm gaze. “Come upstairs with me.”

Suddenly, Hermione’s heart was pounding in triple-time and the spacious booth seemed to shrink in size until she felt as if they were trying to breathe the same scarce air supply. Searching his face for any sign of malice, all she found was a pleading loneliness in his open gaze. His fingers tightened on hers.

“I can’t offer you anything, Hermione. But...don’t you want to be rid of the loneliness? And don’t you dare lie to me and say you aren’t lonely, because I can see it!” he said, leaning into her personal space, the scent of vodka and leather and money invading her senses. She shook her head.

“Hermione, please...we don’t have to do anything sexual, if you don’t want. I just want...it’s been so long since I’ve even held someone who gave a damn about me, good or bad.” He reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear then traced his finger over her trembling lips. “I want to wake up next to someone again.”

“You don’t know that I’m lonely...maybe I have someone...” Hermione murmured, aghast that she was even considering his offer. But, she was lonely, horribly so and she didn’t remember him being this gorgeous during their years at Hogwarts...

_You lying slag...you had dreams about him so naughty you couldn’t look his way for fear everyone would be able to smell the want on you!_

But, Draco, sensing her growing willingness, cupped her cheek in his hand and brought her closer. “I could see it in your eyes, Hermione, today at the Quidditch game. You were as jealous of them as I was. That our children have something we haven’t had for too long. I’m not trying to take Ro...anyone’s place. I know you loved him! But, just for tonight...just let me love you...”

Then, before she could muster further protest, his mouth was on hers and she couldn’t help the whimper that left her throat. She reached out for him blindly, fingers sinking into the sleeves of his sweater, and he cupped her other cheek, pushing his tongue smoothly into her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut, the adolescent within screaming _I’m kissing Draco Malfoy!! Harry’s going to kill me!_

One hand was in the thick mass of her hair now, digging a path to her nape and when his fingers brushed along the edge of her sweater, unknowingly finding that spot that always sent her into orbit, she arched into his loose embrace.

Trailing her fingers over his cheek, scratchy with a day’s worth of gold stubble, Hermione melted against him, tentatively returning his kiss. She opened her mouth wider under his, sliding her tongue against his in a sensual thrust and parry that soon had him nearly devouring her. He pressed her back against the oft-mended leather seatback, one hand sliding under her sweater, dragging the silk of her blouse over her sensitized skin. Even that hesitant touch sent shivers up and down her thighs, raising goosebumps and relief that she’d bothered to use a hair removal potion the night before. She rubbed her thighs together then, trying to ease the ache growing there and failing miserably.

Draco pulled back, an easy smile on his reddened lips. Hermione brushed her thumb over his bottom lip, rubbing away the lip gloss that stained it. They laughed, a little embarrassed, but as equally giddy at the doors that were opening before them. Hermione ran her hand over the spiked ends of his hair, frowning a little. “I always imagined that you’d let it grow, like your father’s.”

“That’s why I didn’t,” he said, his hand moving in slow circles over her back, right above the curve of her hip. He dipped his head and kissed the padded line of her collarbone. “I have enough reminders of him...I don’t need more.”

Hermione spread her palm over his skull, threading her fingers through the pale strands. He raised his eyes to hers and the heat in them made her tremble in barely-remembered passion. He captured her lips in another kiss, so scorching her toes curled inside her shoes. 

_Oh, Ron...forgive me!_ she thought as she twined her arm around Draco’s neck, drawing him closer.

*****

The bed creaked ominously as Draco and Hermione tumbled onto it, mouths fused, frantically tugging at clothes that were suddenly far too constricting, searching and finding each little sliver of skin with the eagerness of a miner panning for gold. Rolling onto his back, Draco pulled Hermione atop him, stripping her sweater off her arms as they were enveloped in the tent of her hair as she toed her shoes off. 

Her skirt twisted around her legs and Hermione gasped in sudden discomfort. Draco dragged his head up from her chest, where he was nuzzling at her breasts through her blouse. He stared at her with a not-so-sober expression. “What?”

“My skirt...it’s cutting off my circulation,” Hermione grunted as she struggled to a sitting position. Draco followed her, unwillingly to part from her for more than a few brief seconds. Hermione scooped her hair out of her eyes and fumbled for the zipper.

“Let me.” Draco slid off the bed and pulled Hermione to her feet. Before he could do whatever it was he had in mind, the witch pulled his head down to hers, her mouth trailing over his jaw and neck, sucking on the warm skin she found there. Skirt forgotten, Draco returned his attention to Hermione’s breasts, cupping them through the silk of her blouse and her lacy bra underneath. 

Hermione tried to push away the doubts that were starting to crowd into her head; her insecurity about her appearance was starting to leach away the pleasure that his kisses and caresses were promising. Reaching down, she grasped his fingers in hers. “Wait.”

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his grey eyes wary and unsure. Hermione touched his cheek gently, surprised at his own insecurity. 

“No! No, Draco...actually, I’m rather amazed that you’ve been so...”

The lines in his brow deepened. “Kind?” He dropped his hands and looked at her in faint exasperation. “I would never hurt you, Hermione. Not now. Not anymore.”

Hermione turned away and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging over the sideboard. With her hair in wild disarray, her clothes askew and her lips swollen from his kisses, she looked wanton and not at all like the hag she’d found there earlier that evening.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. Draco moved behind her, turning her to the mirror in the same motion. He scooped her hair away from her face and together, they looked at their reflection in the slightly-warped glass.

“Why are you scared, Hermione?” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, his fingers deftly flicking open the buttons on her blouse. He tugged the collar aside, then licked a path along her bare shoulder and up into the curve of her neck. She tilted her head to give him better access while trying to remember exactly what he had asked her.

“Ummm...mmmmmm...I don’t know...” she moaned as he opened the last button and pulled the shirt off, tossing it aside. Covering her breasts with both hands, Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, Draco watching the play of emotion on her face.

Taking her hands in his and sliding his fingers between hers, he drew them away from her breasts. Hermione blushed and dipped her head, so that the heavy fall of her hair hid her from his frank appraisal. “You’re beautiful, you know. You always were.”

“You’re a liar, Draco Malfoy,” she muttered, but he could hear the hopeful note in her voice. 

“I’m not a liar.” Lifting her arms, he wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, the position pressing her back against his chest and leaving her exposed to his touch. He reached down and unzipped her skirt, giving it a push over her hips and down her legs. “Merlin, love...what are you worried about? You’re amazing!”

Hermione had closed her eyes tightly when Draco had unfastened her skirt, but now she opened them again, finding his appreciative gaze in the mirror. There was no artifice there, no malice, nothing but desire. “I’m fat.”

He rolled his eyes and for a moment, Hermione was transported back to Hogwarts and they were twelve again. She giggled, the motion of it making her rub against him and he growled in response. Sliding his hands down to her hips, he pulled her back into the cradle of thighs and ground his erection against the softness of her arse. 

“Hermione, first of all, you aren’t fat. Far from it, in fact.” At the look of disbelief on her face, he slid his hand over her ribcage and lower, to stroke the lush curve of her belly. “You carried five children in here. Where they found life.”

Before she realized what he’d done, he was pulling her bra off and dropping it to the floor. He brushed the palms of his hands over her nipples until they were pebbled and rosy, then cupped each breast lovingly. “You nourished them here. Really, Hermione, you’re a work of art.”

_Pretty as a picture, my ‘mione..._ Ron had said moments after the mediwitch had laid Cathleen on her stomach, pressing a soft kiss to her sweat-slicked brow, catching the newborn’s fingers on one of his.

Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat as Draco slipped his hands under the edge of her knickers and slid them down her thighs, kneeling behind her as he lifted first one foot, then the other, tossing them with the rest of her clothing. His mouth pressed against the small of her back, hot and moist, and she felt an answering moisture gather inside her. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as lovely as you, Hermione,” Draco said, laying his cheek against one hip, a drowsy smile on his lips as he trailed two fingers along her cleft, easing in and spreading slick moisture over her swelling flesh. She pushed against his fingers, an unspoken plea for more, and he stroked them deeper, circling her clit with his thumb, slowly, agonizingly, leaving her breathless and shaky.

“R-ron loved how I looked...” she faltered, hating herself for bringing him up during this intimate moment and afraid that Draco would reject her for it. He only smiled, though, a wistful, longing smile.

“Ron Weasley was a very smart man...he found Hogwarts’ greatest treasure. Don’t make a liar of him now.”

His fingers, those long, elegant fingers that she’d noticed even at a young age, were curving inside her now and she tightened around him instinctively. Draco smile turned predatory and he shifted until he was kneeling in front of her. When the tip of his tongue slipped between her wet folds, Hermione grabbed at him for balance, a drawn-out cry breaking out of her. “Ohhhhohhhhhhh! Draco, please...”

He laved her with long laps of his tongue, his hands curling around her hips to clutch the cheeks of her arse and draw her closer, feeding on her with the desperation of a starving man. Hermione pulled at his sweater and wished fervently that it were skin. “Y-you’re wearing t-too many clothes,” she moaned as he tongued her now-throbbing clit.

For an answer, he caught the little nub between his lips, sucking on it lightly. That gentle touch was all she needed and she cried out as her ecstasy crested within her. When he looked up, his mouth and chin wet with her juices, he was smirking like old times. “I’ve wanted to do that for years.” Hermione smacked at his head and he dodged her with a laugh.

Bouncing to his feet with an energy Hermione envied, he grinned. “Now, what was that about my clothes?”

Hermione shook her head as she reached for him. “Too. Many.”

Anxious to have him filling her hands and her yearning body, Hermione tugged his sweater over his head, then while he unbuttoned the shirt underneath, she dropped to her knees before him, her nimble fingers making quick work of his trousers. The heavy length of his cock was impressive even clothed and when she peeled his boxers off his hips, she sighed in admiration. Wrapping her fingers around the hard shaft, she brushed her lips across the tip, wetting them with the droplets gathering at the slit. “I always knew you’d be pretty here, too,” she said, before taking him inside the warmth of her mouth. 

Draco rocked on his heels as he was enveloped in the moist heat of her mouth and clenched his fists. She was wrapping her tongue around him in way that was already causing him to tense in anticipation. He pulled her hair out of the way so he could watch her movement in the mirror, the way her cheeks hollowed as she took him deeper than Daphne ever could, if she could be bothered to even try at all. 

Hermione slipped one hand between his legs, his sac fitting perfectly in the palm of her hand, fingers stroking over the ultra-sensitive skin at the base. Their eyes met in the mirror and Draco reached down to cradle her chin in his hand, guiding her movements on his shaft. For a moment, jealousy for her dead husband choked him and he had to look away. Ron Weasley had this for thirty years, thirty years that might’ve been his had he only opened his eyes to the truth sooner rather than later.

With a final lap at the tip of him, Hermione pulled away. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” she whispered. Draco could only nod in mute agreement as she untied his shoes and removed them, along with his socks, then pulled his pants and underwear away from his ankles.

They stumbled over to the bed and Draco pushed her down onto the soft surface. Hermione sprawled on her back, her hair flaring around her face like a bronze halo. Scooting to the center of the mattress, she held out her arms for him. “Come to me, Draco...let me take away your loneliness...”

The bed dipped as he crawled between her open thighs, nudging them even farther apart with his knees. He crouched over the witch, peppering her face with kisses, before lavishing her breasts with the same attention, taking first one nipple then the other into his mouth and suckling at her until she was crying and arching under him. 

Hermione couldn’t find a part of him that wasn’t perfection. Draco was built much the same as he was at Hogwarts; tall and broad, muscular still, but a softness cushioned his middle and was the only thing that showed his advancing age. She scratched her fingernails through the light hair on his chest and over his stomach, before taking his cock in her hand once more. “Come inside me...”

Draco covered Hermione’s hand in his and as she raised her knees up to make room for him, he guided himself inside her welcoming heat. Without breaking their gaze, he sheathed himself inside her in one thrust and she molded to him, drawing him deeper. He lowered himself carefully onto her, not wanting to crush her, but she wrapped around him snugly, her thighs gripping his waist as her fingers skimmed over the straining muscles in his back. 

“Perfect...oh, Merlin, Hermione! You’re fucking perfect...” he groaned as he pulled out, then filled her again and again, building a rhythm that grew ever faster, until he was pounding into her so hard that she could do little more than just cling and writhe beneath him.

Untangling himself from Hermione’s arms, Draco rose to his knees and pushed her thighs wide apart. He held her in that splayed position, his gaze fastened on the erotic sight of his cock plunging into her. The heavy scent of sex filled the room and he wanted to just crawl inside her, bathe in her juices and feast on the plump flesh gripping him so eagerly. “Look at this, Hermione...look how I’m filling you up...” he murmured, as she reached down to rub the tip of her finger over her clit. “That’s it, baby, show me how you like it...show me how you play with your sweet pussy.”

Hermione took his hand in hers and guided his fingers back into the dark nest of curls. Together, their fingers traced around the hard nub, stroking the sides, barely grazing the tip. Draco slowed, moving in her now with womb-deep, penetrating thrusts and Hermione was bucking under him wildly, her fingernails digging into his hand as he pinched her clit between his fingers, pulling on it in time with the motion of his hips.

“How could you possibly think you were not attractive to me,” he said, running his free hand over her breasts, rolling her nipples hard enough to hurt but she only gasped and urged him on with her wanton moans. “Keep fingering yourself, Hermione. Don’t stop.” 

Pushing her knees up nearly to her shoulders, Draco started grinding into her, pushing her deeper into the mattress until Hermione thought he’d split her in two and she found she didn’t even care, it felt so good, _too_ good. 

Another bone-jarring thrust and she was lost, tossed over the cliff’s edge of her pleasure, uncoiling inside her belly and sending tendrils of aching joy snaking away from the point at which they were so intimately joined. Draco reached up and grasped her by a handful of hair, holding her captive with his eyes as he continued to move slickly in her core and another crest broke over her and she screamed hoarsely. 

She was beautiful, utterly beautiful, the expression of grief and euphoria on her face a wonder to behold. Everything about her was brighter, shinier, shimmering in her climactic delight and as she clung to him desperately, her palms cupping his arse and urging him to greater depths, he found that his control was slipping away before he even knew he was losing it.

He pressed his forehead to hers, then took her soft, swollen lips in a soulful kiss even as his body was convulsing atop hers, spending itself in the liquid heaven of her own. Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked them away and the ones that dared to slip out were caught by Hermione’s lips and tongue. She crooned words of comfort in his ear as he pushed his hot face into the damp curve of her neck, his body relaxing against hers, bit by excruciating bit.

When his heartbeat had returned to something resembling normal, Draco gathered Hermione close and turned onto his side, both of them blushing as he slipped out of her, along with a thick trickle of their combined fluids. “It’s a messy business, isn’t it?” he said, kissing her tenderly.

“I actually rather like it.” Hermione raised up on her elbow and ran her fingers over his softening shaft. “You’re bloody amazing, Malfoy. Thank you.”

He traced his fingers along the deep swell of her waist and hip and over the firm length of her thigh. “I should be the one thanking you, love. After all I’ve done to you and your friends...that you would let me inside you, to taste you...you’re a very forgiving woman, Madam Weasley.”

Hermione shook her damp hair off her shoulders and looped an arm around his neck, teasing the lush curve of his lips with her tongue. He turned his head to the side, opening his mouth under her persuasion, as his desire for her was fanned aflame once more. With a gentle tug, he rolled onto his back, bringing her atop him. “Give me your forgiveness, Hermione...”

With a sleepy smile, she did just that.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal October 2004.


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